Please, Harvey
by PaolaAdara
Summary: That single plea, coming from kiss-swollen, spit-shiny lips, is Harvey's undoing. Post 4x07.


Title: Please, Harvey (1 of 1)

Author: Paola

Disclaimer: _Please, Harvey_ is based on characters and situations that belong to Aaron Korsh and USA Network. No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Considerations: Similarities to other stories/events/passages are purely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author unless otherwise cited. References to real company/ies, historical figure/s, and other personality/ies, dead or alive, are purely fictional. Beliefs and points of view found in the story do not necessarily reflect those of the author's.

Rating: Mature

Warning: Slash

Timeline: Post 4x07 - We're Done

_**Please, Harvey**_

_**That single plea, coming from kiss-swollen, spit-shiny lips, is Harvey's undoing.**_

Harvey can't explain how they got here — how he ended up naked on his leather couch, heart racing, short of breath, with an equally naked Mike writhing in his lap, arms around Harvey's shoulders, and breath hot on Harvey's neck where the blonde has buried his face.

Mike pants against the column of Harvey's throat, the occasional whimper leaving his lips every time he rocks his hips the exact way to make Harvey's cock hit his prostate. And fuck if that sound isn't one of the hottest things Harvey has ever heard. God, does this kid even know what he does to Harvey? This genius kid who wears his heart on his sleeve, who runs himself ragged trying to keep a promise he made to a client who's not even on his side anymore, who's willing to sell his soul to keep his client's dream alive. And apparently, someone who trusts so deeply and never expects to be burnt badly in return.

It's been a rough few weeks since Mike was fired and the whirlwind love story that Rachel and Mike were has fizzled, long since buoyed by mutual respect and undeniable attraction, only to be dismantled by a betrayal that, probably, wouldn't have happened had Harvey chosen to drop Logan fucking Sanders. Or maybe it would still have; after all, Harvey may have paved the way for Rachel and Logan to work together again, but he sure as hell did not push Rachel into kissing the sonovabitch. If anything, Rachel should have known better. Hadn't she disclosed their affair when she asked to be put on the case, owing to Donna supposedly informing her of Harvey's hatred for cheating?

Not that he'd hold it against Rachel for long, the fact that she cheated, just as he didn't hold it against Mike when Mike was stupid enough to have an affair with a married woman right after Harvey had told him that thing about his mother. It's none of his business what they do outside of the office, especially if it doesn't personally affect him, but, _fuck_, Harvey can't keep lying to himself. He may not have cared that Rachel cheated, but that she cheated on _Mike_ is something else all together — the one sinned against somehow just that more important than the sin itself. Since when the fuck did he start to care anyway?

"Harvey..." Mike's plaintive whine pierces the air that's been thus far filled with pants and gasps and half-formed pleas. His skin is dewy with sweat, salty on the surface where Harvey kisses and licks.

But it's _Mike_. It's Mike who appeared on his doorstep late in the evening, rumpled, lost, smelling of cheap beer, but grounded because _no drugs, Harvey, like I promised_. It's Mike who, for once, didn't share his feelings as he's wont to do but instead had asked to watch the rerun of the game on Harvey's big screen. But Harvey had known better. Knows better. Has known the moment it happened because Donna is magnificent like that.

It started with a joke halfway through the game, a what-if that was supposed to be funny but fell a note short because it hit too close to home. Mike had then turned to Harvey, bringing a leg up so his knee was basically digging into Harvey's outer thigh. "Since when did—" he cut himself off, rolling his eyes at the stupid question because they've both long ago known not to ask anymore. "Of course. Donna. Congratulations, by the way. Another win for Harvey Specter!" The fake joyous lilt of the greeting nearly grated on Harvey's nerves.

"It's not like that."

"I know. I know it's not like that, Harvey." Mike stood up, running a hand over his face as if to erase the effects of recent events on his countenance. "I should go. It's late. Thanks for tonight, boss man."

"Mike." Just his name because Harvey really didn't have anything else to say that would help. It was disconcerting that he was in a situation he couldn't talk his way out of, couldn't find the words to make things work the way he wanted them to.

Mike grabbed his hoodie, made for the door, and would have successfully stormed out had Harvey not followed and grabbed his wrist.

"Look, man, I'm gonna go before I fall apart in front of you and embarrass us both." Mike let out a self-deprecating chuckle, prying his wrist free from Harvey's grip and shoving both hands in his back pockets, as though to hide from Harvey how badly they were shaking. He was licking his lips, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking everywhere but at Harvey, redolent of a strung-out druggie if not for the desperation pinching the corners of his eyes. "Trust me, Harvey, not a pretty sight."

Harvey almost winced at how painful it was to look at his former associate. "Let me fix this, Mike," he replied because he couldn't _not_ do anything. How he would fix it was a different problem all together, but Mike didn't need to know that.

"There's nothing you can do, Harvey."

"Try me."

"Sometimes, even Harvey Specter can't find the answer to everything." Another anxious lip-licking.

"That's not possible, Rookie. I'll deal with this in the morning."

"You don't get it!" Mike hissed, finally fixing his eyes dead-on straight on Harvey, his person a seething mass of frustration against Harvey's stubbornness. "I don't want your help! That's all you ever do — bail me out. Don't you get tired of it? Don't you feel cheated? You plucked out this good-for-nothing drug dealer off the fucking streets, expecting to be repaid, and what have I done since? Nothing!" Mike gestured wildly, an encompassing arc with his hand to show the whole lot of "nothing" he thought he'd done.

"Enough!" Harvey shot back because what Mike said wasn't true at all. He didn't think he'd advanced towards the blonde until Mike had suddenly and brusquely pushed him away in his next outburst. Unprepared for Mike's physical reaction, Harvey stumbled and hit the breakfast bar.

Mike suddenly stilled, his words dying in his mouth, his arms stretched out in front of him as if to grab Harvey and prevent something that had already happened. "_God_, Harvey, I'm sorry." His blue, blue eyes were round and disbelieving of what he'd just done. "Shit, I'm sorry." And then he ran his fingers through his already messy hair, regarding Harvey with wary eyes, as though afraid he'd stepped too far but that he couldn't retreat either because maybe he'd hurt Harvey for real.

He hadn't.

"It doesn't matter. You push like a girl." Because, aside from the slightly jarring sensation of hitting the counter, he wasn't really physically hurt. Mike was vacillating between emotions so quick that it was Harvey's head that hurt instead.

"Ha, ha, Harvey. You're a laugh and a half." Miked settled down, lowered his eyes, and in a softer voice, continued, "You can't always volunteer to fix my problems. You've given me so much already. You're absolutely right when you said you made me. I wouldn't be here without you." Mike stepped closer, looking like he believed Harvey wouldn't get it if he wasn't saying it in his face. "I'd probably be dead in a ditch somewhere if you hadn't taken a chance on me."

Mike swallowed then wet his lips, Harvey eyeing the line his tongue took. And wasn't that a surprise? But they were so close, just a little more than a hair's breadth away, and at this distance, all Harvey could do was look.

"Stop saving me. I'm a goddamned grown man and I should be able to take care of myself."

"Then what did you come here for?" Harvey's abrupt tone made Mike look up, eyes wide with surprise.

Alarmed that Harvey might have come to a wrong conclusion, Mike surged forward, long fingers clasping Harvey's open collar. "Never to take advantage of you, Harvey. _God._ You know that," Mike babbled, his movements agitated, his voice not quite steady but the conviction was there, always one to sway people with an outpouring of feelings. "You make things feel normal. Like I haven't fucked up good."

This _kid_. Wasn't he aware of what he was doing to Harvey? Being all up in his space with his earnest face and eyes so blue, and Harvey's only human. Maybe he should let Mike go for the night. It was late, Harvey was tired, and all these emotions from Mike, this constant push and pull exacerbated by their circumstances, these conflicting sentiments in Harvey — they were all playing havoc with his mind. No one had ever frustrated him so much and still evoked a strange sort of protectiveness from him, and he wasn't rested enough to deal with this.

"Maybe you should go," Harvey finally said, untangling Mike's fingers from his now wrinkled shirt. "I'm not kicking you out," he hurriedly added when Mike recoiled, as if offended, as if he himself hadn't been planning on leaving just a few moments ago. "You're tired, your emotions are all over the place — hadn't I taught you better? — and you don't know what you're saying." But Mike did know and it was Harvey who was having a hard time acclimating to the situation, but he'd be damned before he'd ever admit to that.

Harvey placed a directing hand on Mike's arm, walking him towards the door, but Mike, the only person who just couldn't take a hint, let his mouth run off again even as he let himself be guided out of the apartment, "I know what I'm saying, Harvey. Please, just...be a friend who's just there and stop fixing _me_. Because that's what this is all about, isn't it?"

Harvey took a deep cleansing breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose in the hope of staving off an oncoming headache. He could feel his jaw muscle tick as he fought for control. Mike couldn't be more wrong if he tried. "It's you who's not getting it, Michael."

Mike turned to him just as he reached his hand out to open the door, effectively cocooning himself between the wall, the bracket of Harvey's arm, and Harvey himself. "What—"

"Did that big, genius brain of yours ever consider that I might be doing this for me? I brought you here. I _made _you. Did it never occur to you _at all_ that I might be feeling responsible for you?"

"Harvey—" The click of the door almost sounded ominous and it cut off what Mike was saying.

Harvey clenched his jaw. There was a reason he hated getting personally involved. "You're a mess, Mike. We'll talk tomorrow."

But Mike couldn't just let things go, could he? This frustrating teenager of a man just didn't know when to let go, and Harvey couldn't decide whether to be irritated or amused, but the decision was taken away from him when he felt Mike's hand on his own, pushing the door shut, before the blonde threw caution to the wind and sealed his lips over Harvey's.

It didn't happen in slow motion like in the movies. It was a blur of movements: one moment he was about to push Mike out the door and the next he was cradling his ex-associate flush against him. His hands automatically landed on Mike's hips as the blonde's own tunneled in his hair, lips an insistent pressure against Harvey's unresponsive mouth.

Mike relented but didn't pull away; if anything, his grip on Harvey's hair tightened. His mouth was a mulish line with the faintest sheen of wetness and his blue eyes were hard, virtually daring Harvey to call him on his actions.

"Don't say things like that," Mike demanded. "I'll misinterpret them."

But Harvey knew this wasn't a calculated move. Nothing with Mike had ever been calculated in the face of Harvey's knife-edged perceptiveness. Instead, this was an honest reaction, something Mike didn't plan for and only fuelled by his stubbornness to see through his decisions. And he'd decided to kiss Harvey.

It all came down to this moment, didn't it? All their disregard for personal space, all those jokes that should never have been uttered in a professional setting, all the leaps Harvey made to keep Mike out of trouble, and all the coaxing and cajoling and caring Mike kept at to get past Harvey's defenses.

And Harvey... _Harvey's just human._ Looking back, he probably shouldn't have encouraged this. Probably shouldn't have whispered "Then misinterpret them," before walling Mike against his front door and devouring Mike's mouth like a dying man wishing for a drop of water in a barren wasteland.

Mike mouths at Harvey's jaw, his hips rolling and never faltering, and Harvey stops thinking. Stops thinking of how they managed to cross his apartment and land naked, and wanting, and sweaty, and desperate on his couch. It's all Harvey can do to not just grab his ex-associate until he bruises that pale skin and thrust wildly into Mike's tight heat, forcing an orgasm from the both of them because if there's anyone who can make him lose control, it's Mike. This kid he picked up from the wrong side of the tracks.

Mike levers himself with his hands planted on Harvey's shoulders, his eyes glassy with desire, his mouth slack from the sensation of being filled, his breathing a harsh staccato against the quiet night as he fucks himself on Harvey's cock, and Harvey doesn't think he's seen anything so beautiful, so honest that it makes him _ache_. Not the ever-calculating Scottie; not the cool, smart-mouthed Vanessa; not even the fiery force that is Donna that one night such a long time ago.

Mike sucks in a breath, the effort seemingly too much as he never stops impaling himself on Harvey, up and down, up and down, a dizzying motion that surrounds Harvey in a hot, vice-like grip. "I want…to come," he says, almost with difficulty, his tone not entirely a demand but a raspy entreaty.

Harvey's own hands go down a slow slide from Mike's chest, to his ribs, to his hips, then to his ass, pulling until Mike collapses into him once more and his up-and-down rhythm reduced to a grind. By Mike's sharp gasp, Harvey knows the new position has settled Mike's prostate right atop Harvey's cock. And as his hands on his ex-associate's ass urge the blonde to keep rocking against him and as his own hips move in a slow, rolling counterpoint to Mike's, he knows his cock has become a constant, dragging pressure on that tiny bundle of nerves within Mike.

Mike sobs at the sensations Harvey's causing, but he anchors himself yet again, his palms cupping Harvey's face. He licks his lips, swallows, and begs, "Please, Harvey..."

That single plea, coming from kiss-swollen, spit-shiny lips, is Harvey's undoing.

He surges forward, crushes his mouth to Mike's, kissing his former associate so thoroughly, stealing his breath, rendering him whimpering and helpless despite his position on top. And then he's maneuvering them both, almost manhandling the blonde until Mike is lying on the couch, trembling thighs spread wide to cradle Harvey between his legs. Harvey, who's lost all thought as he fucks Mike with abandon. Short, quick thrusts that are nonetheless aggressive, impatient, all-too consuming and claiming because Mike is his discovery, his own genius. His alone. No more sharing with the Trevors and the Jennies and the Rachels of their world.

Harvey's right hand is gripping the couch's armrest, giving him the perfect leverage to set a brutal, possessive pace while his left is secured around Mike's shoulder to pull the blonde repeatedly down on his cock. But Mike doesn't need the assistance, not when he himself has locked his heels around the back of Harvey's thighs and is bent on meeting Harvey thrust for thrust.

"Mike," Harvey breathes, incapable of anything more as he lets all these sensations — from finally giving in to what everything has been leading them to — govern him. He buries his face in the crook of Mike's neck, mouth open, tongue tasting the salt on Mike's skin, teeth grazing the pale canvas, before sucking a bruise to the surface, high enough that Mike's collar won't be able to hide it.

Mike whines as Harvey bites down on the patch of skin he's been worrying, the edge of pain making Mike writhe almost uncontrollably. At the back of his head, Harvey knows it probably isn't a good idea, irresponsible, reckless, but the urge to mark what is his is too strong to ignore. This is what Mike does to him — takes away his steely self-control, and in the face of Mike's willing offer, how can he resist?

Harvey nearly comes when Mike squeezes around him in reaction. _Fuck._ So much heat.

"Har—" Mike chokes off when Harvey's particular down stroke hits just the right spot. "Harvey, want… want to come, please…" He moves his hand to grasp his own cock, but Harvey bites off a warning before he can do so:

"No, Mike," Harvey pants at the junction where neck meets shoulder. He then takes a curious nibble along Mike's collarbone before he continues, "You can't touch yourself. You'll come from this alone." As if to emphasize his demand, Harvey fucks into him harder, deeper, relentless in hitting his prostate.

Mike keens, his hands scrambling for purchase on Harvey's sweat-slicked skin, restless, nails digging and probably leaving welts in their wake, but he doesn't go for his erection again. Instead, he burrows his fingers in Harvey's hair, yanking to bring Harvey in for a sloppy kiss.

Harvey indulges him, running his tongue along Mike's palate, teeth, before tangling with Mike's own tongue. No finesse. Just raw, undiluted passion that leaves them both breathless. He relinquishes his hold on the armrest and brings his hand to cradle Mike's jaw, tipping Mike's head slightly backwards so he can devour Mike's mouth more insistently, his tongue fucking that hot, wet cavern with the same intensity he's fucking Mike.

But, _goddamn_, he can't get enough. Can never get enough and he should've known. He's always monopolized Mike's time, always senselessly angry when Mike does work for someone else, always just that bit unsettled when he gambles Mike away, and always willing to sabotage his career for this fake lawyer who blew his mind back at that hotel room.

It doesn't take long for Mike to come after that, untouched, as though Harvey's capitulation is the only thing missing to trigger his climax — a shuddering full-body reaction that forces him to wrench his mouth from Harvey's so he can take in longs drags of air as he makes a mess between their bodies. He's clenching and unclenching without conscious effort around Harvey's cock that it pulls Harvey's own orgasm after a couple more thrusts.

Harvey feels it from the tips of his toes, a delicious tension that travels all the way to where he's connected to Mike until he's coming inside the blonde, a powerful cresting that feels like an unforgiving tide crashing upon the shore.

The force of his orgasm shouldn't have come as a surprise for Harvey. Mike has always wrung the most inexplicable reactions from him with his tenacity, his wide-eyed belief in Harvey, his _caring_, that why should sex be any different?

When Harvey pulls out, the wet sound it makes is almost obscene and he glorifies at the shiver that steals through Mike, who unceremoniously arranges the two of them so that they're lying on their sides, facing each other, bodies drawn so close together that there's not an inch of space between them. Of course Mike is a cuddler, but Harvey doesn't mind, not even when Mike's come is sticky between their stomachs. He's not opposed to post-coital touching; in fact, he loves the feel of cooling skin beneath the pads of his fingers, the feeling of a frantic heartbeat slowly equalizing against his own chest. He _did_ that. He did that to Mike.

Harvey lets his hand wander down Mike's back to his ass, fingers playing at Mike's most intimate place, puffy and no doubt red, and sticky from excess lube and Harvey's come. Mike gives a quiet moan but otherwise remains motionless, content to be plastered all over Harvey's front, finally still.

"We didn't use protection," Harvey murmurs, his fingers doing lazy dips in Mike's crack, unable to help himself. He should be more concerned but the post-sex lethargy is settling in, and his brain is still too fuzzy with the influx of emotions and sensations and whatever else Mike Ross brings with him.

"I've never not trusted you." So much certainty.

"You shouldn't put too much faith in me."

Mike doesn't reply for a while, just lies there, unresponsive, that Harvey thinks he's fallen asleep, as sticky and messy as they are, but he speaks before Harvey can do anything, "Do you know how awesome it felt to be fucked raw by you?" There's no teasing, just a quiet almost-inquiry breathed against Harvey's shoulder where Mike has tucked his face. "Knowing there's nothing separating us? So awesome, Harvey. You felt so good in me. Never felt so full. Owned. You made my brain shut off." Mike is all loose-tongued, sated, pliant, spouting sleepy, unfiltered thoughts that would probably make him blush had he been more lucid.

Harvey hums in acknowledgement, resting his hand on Mike's hip before giving it a gentle squeeze. If he were any younger, he'd probably be ready for another round so soon, what with the filthy words coming out of Mike's mouth.

"I think I could fall in love with you," Mike continues, still relaxed, the complete opposite of the tightly coiled ball of energy he was when he first arrived. Then he chuckles, the vibrations skittering across Harvey's skin. "Hell, I might've been half in love with you since the very first day!"

Harvey doesn't tense because he's always suspected it of Mike. The kid hero-worships like no one he's ever met, always willing to do Harvey's bidding, always wearing his heart on his sleeve and foisting all his feelings on Harvey, that it's only a matter of time, really, before Mike trips over that line.

But while it's almost surprising that he doesn't address Mike's confession, he's understood the context by which it has been said. The tone with which the blonde has delivered it didn't fish for any from his part to begin with, and that, maybe, is the biggest factor why he's not alarmed.

"Didn't stop you from blackmailing me."

It's easy to give in, too. To be in love with Mike. This camaraderie between them, the instinct to look out for each other, the way Mike is intellectually equal to him, the obvious chemistry. His constant avoidance of feelings — it isn't rooted to any psychological trauma Donna likes to speculate about, his mother's transgression notwithstanding. Scottie wasn't even really about not knowing how to bridge their emotional distance but a falling-in into a routine he'd always associated with her. It's simply because he doesn't like complications. He already has that at work and in his childhood so why would he want it in his current personal life as well?

"Which was a smart thing for me to do, admit it."

But Mike is an unavoidable complication. A complication Harvey brought on to himself when he hired him despite having no degree to speak of.

Mike pulls back, regards Harvey with half-lidded baby blues before kissing him. It's a close-mouthed, lazy affair that Harvey absent-mindedly partakes in. "I'm not in love with you, Harvey. Not yet. My life is too fucked up right now for you."

Harvey can't detect a trace of self-pity, just a matter-of-fact statement. He stays silent.

"But I've had worse." Mike goes in for another kiss, long enough for him to nibble on Harvey's lower lip but short enough for it to lead nowhere. "If you keep helping me, you're going to keep wanting to be part of the big decisions — let's be real, Harvey, you power-trip like nobody's business! But it's understandable and I'd probably be the same if our situations were reversed — the big decisions part, not the power-tripping a-holey thing."

Harvey barely keeps himself from rolling his eyes.

"And, I guess, I have to do this on my own, right? You've already given me the foundation to start a better life, and I refuse to be dependent on you again."

"Mike—" Harvey starts because the damned kid is just not getting it. Harvey's not entirely offering this for Mike's sake alone. But Mike cuts him off with another kiss, shifting from his position so he's now sprawled half on Harvey, his hands seemingly methodically messing up Harvey's hair, freeing the strands from a day's worth of gel.

"I understand that you're doing this for yourself, too, you arrogant bastard, that you feel _responsible_ for me, but it's not your decision to make. Change moves in spirals, and all that." Mike takes out the sting in his words by giving Harvey's chin a playful bite. "I really just wanted to see you tonight. I didn't come here thinking you'd offer to bail me out again. Please, Harvey, don't insult me. Don't insult our friendship."

It's silent for a while before Harvey sighs. "What did I tell you about interrupting me?" he finally concedes, the fingers on his right hand desultorily scratching abstract patterns on Mike's arm. He's nearly blinded by the brilliance of Mike's grin that follows. "And really? You're giving me Ryan Gosling?"

"You're a piece of shit."

Harvey is amused. Gone is the man who was moping and in its place is the Mike Ross he knows. "The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist."

"You will always be fond of me." Mike smirks a smirk worthy of Harvey Specter before crawling completely on top of him, licking into his mouth, undulating his lower torso, and effortlessly coaxing Harvey back into arousal. "I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit."

Harvey kisses back for a moment, enjoys the unbridled passion in Mike's kisses, before he's pulling at Mike's hair to make him stop. A string of saliva is all that connects them, and it should've been disgusting if it isn't so entirely hot at the same time. Mike dives back in, not once stopping his rutting against Harvey's renewed erection. It takes all of Harvey's hard-earned self-control to put a stop to it once more. "Mike."

Mike's breathing is ragged, and he sucks in a cleansing breath that hardly does anything, before surrendering, pressing his forehead against Harvey's chest. "I know. Sex doesn't make this go away. Isn't the healthiest thing to take comfort in, yadda, yadda. I'd call you a hypocrite if I didn't believe any better."

And Harvey's incomprehensibly pleased that Mike understands. Because sex for Harvey has never been about running away. It's always a deliberate congress to satiate a carnal need, but never to lose himself in to get away from his troubles. Always a reward and never a consolation no matter what people believe when judging him based on his many bed partners.

But just like how he'd given in to Mike earlier this evening, Harvey turns back on his word and takes Mike against the bathroom wall as they're cleaning themselves. God, sometimes he's a cliché but he _can't _help himself, and Mike's vocalization of his own pleasure is just encouragement that Harvey probably doesn't need but won't ignore anyway.

"I can't quit you," Harvey finds himself whispering on the skin of Mike's nape as he thrusts into the younger man, hot water sluicing down their backs. He doesn't mean to say it, but it's now out there. Mike's only response is a drawn out groan and a tightening of his hot channel that causes Harvey's movements to stutter.

But then, Mike isn't an escape for him. Not really. This genius kid, who almost always bites off more than he can chew but forges ahead anyway, is an indulgence, a reward, _never a consolation_.

When they're both spent, gasping from chasing their second orgasms for the night, Harvey relaxes his grip on Mike's hands that he'd pinned to the wall earlier, carefully turns the blonde towards him, and corrals him against the wall as he guides his ex-associate's arms around his neck in a loose embrace.

"Dude, what was that?" is Mike's breathless question, slumping against Harvey, trusting the brunette to hold him up. _Always_, always trusting.

"I think it's safe to say that it's never going to be normal between us. And don't call me 'dude.'"

Mike laughs. "You just had to tap this ass again, didn't you, old man?" He nips at Harvey's shoulder before crowing, "Harvey Specter just can't quit Mike Ross!"

Harvey knows he's never going to live that down but he's not about to retract a truth that needs to be said. He grunts instead and pulls back, but keeps an arm on Mike to balance the laughing blonde. He reaches up and adjusts the shower head and the spray strength so Mike gets a faceful of water. "Shut up, Rookie."

Mike splutters and hurries to redirect the spray. "Jerk! And I can say that with a clear conscience because you're not my boss." He mock-glares. "But seriously, Harvey, you've probably eliminated all chances of me sitting down comfortably for the next few days and—" Mike shivers, "—wow, I just felt your come leak out of my ass! Oh my God. Porn alert!"

Harvey rolls his eyes at Mike's prattling.

"_Anyway_, I'm not gonna call you on it because I do understand." Mike reaches around Harvey to grab the bottle of body wash, pouring a generous amount on his hand before lazily running his soapy palms across Harvey's shoulders, scratching with his nails, seemingly more intent to feel Harvey's skin than to actually wash him. Harvey's always known how touchy Mike can get and he hasn't exactly discouraged any of it aside from the occasional brush-off when he was offered fist bumps back in the day.

"I know you're not using me as an escape of sorts," Mike continues then brusquely dissolves in snickers. "For an asshole, you're pretty sweet."

As punishment for Mike's comment, Harvey pushes two fingers up where Mike is currently most sensitive, with the excuse of "cleaning him out," which does a good job of shutting Mike up.

"Can't, Harvey," Mike gasps as Harvey continues his assault. He clings to Harvey and trembles at the overwhelming sensations from being probed after having just come.

Harvey hushes him. "Let me just get you clean," he says gently as he scoops out come and the lube from earlier. He thinks he's beginning to form an unhealthy obsession with Mike's ass, twice now fucking it without a condom, and he should really tell Mike off for letting him. It's unsafe to get used to this and they should know better. "No more unprotected sex for you."

"Unless it's with you?"

That pulls an abrupt laugh from Harvey. "Smartass." The kiss he proceeds to land on Mike's smiling mouth is chaste and fond.

When they're all clean and done, sated from indulgence and exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster ride, they tuck themselves in opposite sides of Harvey's bed, facing each other and keeping a decent distance between them.

"This can't progress the way it is now," Harvey opens. It's time to become responsible adults again despite the burdens adulthood carries.

"Your pillow talk has me all a-flutter."

"Mike."

Mike favors him a smile, a little apologetic but entirely genuine and warm. "Tomorrow, we go back to being Harvey and Mike, the way we were. Don't worry, Harvey. I agree. We can't afford not to. I have to get my life back in order, figure out how to go on from here. This thing between us has to stay stolen. For now."

"For now."

"We'll have a 'to be continued,' for sure, because we all know Batman has a thing for Robin's ass." Mike's grin is all humor. "They're like porn waiting to happen."

Harvey shakes his head as much as his position allows. He trusts Mike to get it and the blonde does. That's all that matters. "Good night, Rookie."

Mike sends him an exaggerated air kiss, chuckling to himself before turning over and settling in for the night.

Harvey stares at Mike's back for a long time even after Mike's breath has evened out in sleep, watching as Mike's pale skin lends the faint light coming in from his wall-to-ceiling windows a canvas to paint on. Tomorrow, they'll be back to being friends and he'll be back to wanting to help Mike, but, this time around, maybe trying to refrain to offer a complete solution because Mike has asked and he now knows to respect it.

The younger man has a point anyway. He needs to carve out his future outside of the lie they've been perpetuating because that's the only way to move forward. Despite the many times Harvey had told him that he should learn to stand on his own back when Mike worked for him, he hasn't really been hands-off. Not even when Mike became an investment banker. And Harvey has to learn to accept that he can't always do that. He can't always provide Mike a safety net because Mike will stagnate and the two of them will never have a chance to figure out if they can be something else down the road. And Mike is too brilliant for that and their relationship too important for him to be closing doors.

He'll learn to be supportive without spoon-feeding Mike everything. And when Mike eventually finds out who is outside of Harvey's sphere of influence, then maybe they can revisit this night.

Maybe. Because Mike still has the tendency to fall in love with everyone and everything, and Harvey, though he's accepted that Mike is a messy but welcome complication, still craves for the uncomplicated. Donna can make fun of him all she wants, but whatever. Maybe he also has some growing up to do.

Harvey yawns, finally turning his back to Mike and settling more comfortably under the goose down duvet.

Just before he fully succumbs to sleep, he feels the sheets rustle then hears Mike's soft voice: "Thanks, Harvey."

Harvey hums in acknowledgement and thinks no more.

_-fin_

**Citations:**

"Change moves in spirals, not circles." – Dan Dunne, _Half Nelson_

"The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist." – Roger "Verbal" Kint, _The Usual Suspects_

"You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit." – Oscar Wilde, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_

**Important note:**

Never practice unsafe sex. You're never too horny to be stupid. Harvey and Mike are bad role models.


End file.
